– Protocol –

“Your father’s honours, my lady.”

My hands reached out for the crown, orb and sceptre as if controlled by another mind not my own. Every fibre of my being wanted to turn away, or throw the hateful object on the floor. But protocol won. As always.

Winning the kingdom had cost father his life and had made orphans of us all.

Now the ‘honours’ were to be laid in the hands of my little brother, whilst I, as the eldest female, would be forced to physically pass them to him in a public ceremony.

I would be signing his death warrant, if recent events were to be our compass to the future.

A servant burst into the room, panting, sweating, distraught. Could it be…?

“The young sire has gone missing, my lady! He is nowhere in the palace!”